DEIMOS
Drifting between the stars almost felt normal – surreal balances of tangible ethers long since lost, things parsed away, incapable of having again. He raised his head towards them, briefly flickering over similar vastness, of darker balances, of shadows between lights, and then strode onward. Intentions had been nestled in memories, placing ways to honor Rexanna in the midst of the fields, where the long grasses didn’t stray, where so many others had found themselves whittled into embers, ashes, and soot across the vast land. A season of recollection, and perhaps forgiveness, so that he could start to carve the latter into himself. So he could permit the void to not scrape so readily at his bones. So there was peace within his lungs, and repose in his ichor, and something beyond hollowed contortions, where he coiled back in upon his enamel, and kept everything else out.Zuriel trailed after him, and together they were maneuvering cinders in a world of obsidian, in a world that had once been their home, in a place that he’d dared, tried, to mend and fix and defend with mettle, grit, and determination – until there was naught else left. Until everything he’d cherished was gone.
Another lift of his skull brought his gaze over the horizon. A predator’s instinct, to hone in after the world and follow its motions, to wonder about threats, to summon rapacity along the edges of his blood; and it drew him towards the slightest nuances of sound, of a silhouette laden along a rock, the ground sloping beneath. And for a few moments, he stared in wonder, because advancing upon the form inspired recognition, well, well, well beyond the cruel fallacies of delirium and sickness, and into snippets of time not entrenched in sorrow. “Aisha?” He called out into the night, deep rumbles and ricochets, after swords and spears, after broken silence – battering hope into his veins, feeling the steadfastness beginning to brew and brim in his motions. But then he stood stock still, a monolith along the backdrop of Stygian oils and canvases, pondering if he’d been mistaken – if she too had been taken in as one more ghost, one more phantom, one more wraith.
You aren't afraid of throwing yourself
in the path of danger
but you're terrified of letting anyone in
